Confessions of a Plaything
by Neuronerd
Summary: A short one shot from Rick Rape's POV.


**A/N: I actually liked the concept of Gamer and felt bad in a way for Rick Rape. I had 2 reactions in the theater: **

**#1- Peter Petrelli! What has become of you?! Why is your hand down your pants? You were such a nice boy on Heroes… **

**#2- Wow. It must suck to be him. I wonder what he is like when he isn't being controlled by some pervert. I bet he is actually a nice guy that helps old ladies across the street. **

**Anyway, here is my take on Rick Rape. Enjoy!**

**Confessions of a Plaything**

I don't know if this will ever see the light of day or if any of you on the outside will care, but I feel as though I have to try- for me and all of us. All of us that you control without mercy and absolute impunity. All of us that act out your deepest desires and sickest fantasies while you sit safe and secure behind your anonymity. All of us that fear going to work every day wondering what you will do to us, or make us do to each other. I can't tell you every life story because there are simply too many of us, but I can tell you mine. My name is Jason Portillo, but you probably know me better by my screen name- Rick Rape.

I didn't come up with that, by the way. As with most things in this virtual life- if you want to call it that- came courtesy of my player. Like everyone else in Society, I have no idea who my player is, but based on the things I have experienced since I started this job, I have my suspicions. But that's just the problem- I shouldn't have any idea what I do when I am working, but I very much do and that is what makes me sick when I clock out to go home to my actual life. All the memories are supposed to be blocked out, but I am sometimes aware of what is going on in disturbing detail. Every kiss, every woman I assault, the sounds of them screaming and pleading, and having to laugh and smile about it all even when it sickens me at a visceral level because that's what my player makes me do. You have no idea what that feels like.

I don't expect you to feel sorry for me because after all, it was my choice to be an icon, right? Well, the answer to that is…complicated. I wasn't one of the lucky ones like you who had enough money to buy another human being to live my life for me. I was just an expendable kid from the wrong side of the tracks who only wanted to make a better life for himself. I won't bother you with all the cry-me-a-river hard luck sob stories, but suffice it to say that in order to get ahead in life it takes money- money I didn't have and couldn't get unless I sold drugs, my internal organs on the black market, or went from one blood bank to another selling my very life force until I passed out. In the end, I sold something far more valuable- my very soul.

I can't exactly claim ignorance about what was being done when I signed up. I knew that in exchange for a good deal of money I would give up all control when my player logged on- day or night and my every word and action would be theirs until they got bored and finally released me by signing off. They could dress me however they wanted, make me talk to whoever they wanted, and do everything their hearts desired and that was fine by me because I was promised that I would never know what they did with me thanks to the nanobots that allowed the player to make me move as they pleased except that is not what happened. I know it sounds naive, but I was hoping that my player would be some adolescent girl who was into romantic stuff, or riding horses, or…whatever because Society was a place where anything could happen- and it does, believe me because I am often unwittingly a part of the dark underbelly. My player has made me a skin tight vinyl clad sexual predator with absolutely no self control even in the most public of places. This was not what I had in mind.

I haven't seen my family in a long time. Not because we aren't allowed to talk to people on the outside while we are under contract, but I am ashamed of what I have become even though I am trying to save money to help them and myself by participating in this stupid illusion. I try very hard to keep my private and working lives separate, but I can't help but wonder if people on the outside will recognize me as Rick Rape when I finally get out of here even though I am really just Jason Portillo- the poor kid from the huge Italian family with the alcoholic father and the mother sick with cancer. I know I said I wouldn't tell you a sob story, but I want you to understand why I have to do this. I _do_ have a real family and I _do_ have a real life. I am a real person who sits in the bottom of his shower late at night covered in bodily fluids and cries because I am not at all who my player wants me to be. All those women have lives too, _real_ ones and it scares me to think that like me, they are aware of what is happening too.

I used to be scared that I would get my ass kicked when I was finally free to go back to the outside world, but I think it is just as dangerous here. Let's face it- the only thing worse than a rapist is a child rapist which thankfully my player hasn't made me do yet. There are plenty of pissed off players who have had their icons attacked and are no doubt looking for revenge. Every time I get that slightly buzzy feeling in my brain and I lose control of my body when my player takes control, I wonder if this will be the last time. Sooner or later, a potential victim will fight back and slash me with a knife or a boyfriend will beat me senseless or worse. Even though I try to keep my personal and working life separate, they sometimes blur together and it is not impossible to get hurt or even killed in this job and that carries over to your own time. The bruises don't go away just because you clocked out. I can't tell you how many times I have been released bloodied and hurting, although my player is pretty good about getting me to a hospital- most of the time. They are paying a pretty penny for me and have a vested interest in keeping me reasonably healthy I guess.

I look forward to the very minute that my contract is up and I can go back to my life. Even if I was unhappy with what I had, at least I was free and in control of my own body. You can't know what it is like to force yourself on another woman for the tenth time that day- when your body hurts and is not in any way aroused and your mind screams for it all to stop- but you can't. You don't know what it is like to grope strange women in elevators and uncontrollably hump their legs like a dog, and bite them, and slap them, and all of the other horrible things my player makes me do because in their mind I and the other icon are not real people- it is all a game. No harm, no foul, right?

If there is anything that I want to come of this, it is for you to realize that we are humans- just like you. We do have feelings and when you throw us away at the end of a session like ragdolls to be forgotten until the mood strikes you to pick us up again, we are sometimes alone in strange places and some of us remember what you do. We know how twisted and cruel you can be, but we also know that as long as there are the haves and the have nots we will always be seen as expendable- objects to be used in whatever way you see fit and many of us, like me, really have no other options but to be your personal playthings.


End file.
